My blog is fast turning into the kind of blog that used to really irritate me. You know, the kind that has a blogger who only writes rarely. I'm sheepishly grinning right now, because now I understand that kind of blog. I would read them, get interested, then, bam, the mom has another child or something else super interesting happens in the household -- and what kind of posts follow this?
But I get it now! Of course the mom couldn't post! She was otherwise occupied.
So, to be honest, those kinds of blogs don't irritate me anymore (partly because I don't have time to read them at all), and partly because I am humbled to admit that there's another kind of blog that irritates me instead: the kind of blog that always has thoughtful posts and always is interesting. I am amazed by those women who are able to do this blogging stuff as well as keep up with their homemaking. I salute you!
I am just quickly checking in here, while one child splashes in the tub off of the office where I type, and while Baby Madeline slumbers. (I have the monitor right here by the mouse).
This morning I was someone who, according to my wise husband, I'm not supposed to be. I was who he refers to as Whirling Dervish Heather.
I did laundry, I filled the dishwasher, I fed the toddler, I popped batches of cookie dough into and out of the oven, I chopped vegetables for a beautiful soup, I invited the neighbors over for lunch, I nursed. As I did all of that joyfully and with great zeal, I felt happy and at home and at ease and capable.
I thought about how NOT to overhostess, and pulled off an impromptu lunch pretty well. Yay.
But, as she always does, Whirling Dervish Heather is now completely exhausted, and alas, she has not yet made dinner. Sigh.
The baby awakes, and I must trot.